


One of a Kind

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [22]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: A/B/O, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Politics, omegaverse AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: Ancel is one of a kind- the only alpha pet at court. He’s used to being a novelty, a plaything. That changes when his contract is bought by Lord Berenger, a strange beta dedicated to improving the standing of omegas under the law.
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 50
Kudos: 188





	One of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [Salt_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt_Queen/) for betaing!

* * *

“Fuck him, Red!” someone cries out from the audience and Ancel makes a point of looking up and grinning, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

The pet under him, a pretty omega named Jean, is already writhing and begging for his knot. He smells so sweetly that it takes all of Ancel’s concentration to remember this is just for show. Ancel bites at the inside of his own cheek sharply, the iron tang of blood enough to clear his mind of the pheromones clouding it. It won’t last long, but it’s enough for now.

This is so stupid, what he’s doing. He would never perform in the ring with a pre-heat omega, not usually. But he’s been between contracts three weeks now and he can’t afford to kid himself about his dwindling prospects.

He knows full well that he’s a novelty- an alpha pet, how unheard of. Everyone thinks it’ll be fun to fuck him, to have an alpha submit to them. Eventually the novelty always fades as they realize his submission is just another game of pretend. Eventually they all go back to the betas and omegas they feel they can own in a way they can’t own him.

“Knot him!” someone yells and Ancel forces himself to laugh.

This is dangerous- fucking a pre-heat omega in a room full of alpha nobles who are used to getting everything they want. Not only does he have to control himself, he has to control all of _them,_ too. He has to be the most dominant alpha in the room or else someone else might try to come down here and take his omega from him-

Ancel exhales sharply, shutting his eyes. Not _his_ omega. The omega belongs to-

His mind is too hazy, he doesn’t remember. He bites the inside of his cheek again to get some clarity but it doesn’t work as well as it did before.

Jean is begging him, practically crying with how badly he wants to be knotted. Everyone else in the audience wants it too, but Ancel isn’t going to give it to them. Not today, and not ever.

He pulls out and comes over Jean’s stomach while the audience cheers and laughs, the excitement drowning out the disappointment. Jean whines, tears glistening over his dark lashes, and Ancel bends down to take his cock in his mouth even as he pushes three fingers back inside him.

After that it’s simpler, his head clearer after his orgasm. He brings Jean off and pulls back as attendants come forward to bundle them up in satin robes and spirit them away. There are soldiers waiting for them in the back room, Jean’s master’s men, come to take him away where he can go through the rest of his heat in private.

“Thanks, Ancel,” he murmurs sleepily before leaving. Ancel nods back at him and pulls the robe closer over his chest as he waits to find out his own fate. Is there a bidding war for him back in that room? Or will his value decline further and further until he has to leave court with nothing?

Eventually an attendant comes to tell him he’s been bought.

“By who?” Ancel asks.

“Lord Berenger,” the attendant says.

Ancel frowns. He’s never heard the name before, which doesn’t bode well for his new master’s status. 

“Who the fuck is Lord Berenger,” he says with a scowl.

* * *

Lord Berenger turns out to be a recent arrival at court, an unassuming beta and a Lord of a province of his own. Rare among the nobility, as they value alphas above all. Omegas can’t inherit property or titles, and while betas occasionally find themselves in positions of power it’s undeniable that alphas look down on them with derision.

Ancel’s had beta masters before- they get a kick out of fucking an alpha when they’d never have the opportunity otherwise. They tend to keep his contract longer than alpha masters, but due to their lower social status they give cheaper gifts.

Except Berenger gives him a lavish emerald necklace on the very first day, so that doesn’t seem to be an issue. Based on that and the exorbitant price he’s paid for Ancel’s contract he’s incredibly rich, so Ancel’s willing to be tentatively optimistic.

Most of his new masters can’t wait to fuck him, but Berenger is standoffish and cold. He almost seems to be avoiding Ancel when they’re not attending public functions together. Ancel tries to be understanding- after all, their dynamic is an unusual one.

He interrogates Berenger’s man, Parsins, and gets very little useful information out of him. In friends, Berenger values loyalty above all. He’s a very private man, he’s a hands-on Lord, blah blah blah. 

Ancel can read between the lines well enough- Berenger is bland, boring, and insecure in his social standing. That’s why he wastes his time visiting minor villages in his province to kiss babies and memorize everyone’s names. That’s why he won’t touch Ancel either- he’s not sure he can handle an alpha in bed. But then- why buy him?

It’s an infuriating enigma.

Ancel asks around only to find rumors and speculation. No one seems to know much about Berenger personally, but his political policies are infamous. They say omegas in Varenne are legally allowed to inherit and own property. They have legal recourse against alpha aggression, even when the alpha in question is in rut.

“Varenne has more than its fair share of omegas,” Lord Droet mutters with annoyance over drinks late one night.

“They say alphas convicted of rape get gelded,” Lady Vannes shares on a separate evening, her eyes glittering with delight while Ancel shivers at the thought.

“Nonsense,” Parsins says when Ancel asks him about it. “That’s barbaric. They’re simply jailed until they’re no longer a danger to others.” He seems oddly shifty about it but Ancel doesn’t press further.

Aside from the rumors, Ancel has other problems. A week into his contract and Berenger still hasn’t touched him. It’s unheard of and unacceptable. Ancel can’t have Berenger losing interest in him before he’s even had him, so he resolves to take matters into his own hands.

An alpha approaching a beta, especially a beta who’s supposed to be superior to them in status, is a delicate proposition.

Ancel plans his next move carefully. He bathes ahead of time, making sure to use simple soaps that will mask his scent. Afterwards he peruses his carefully-curated selection of perfumes, pausing over a lavender oil infused with omega pheromones. Maybe that might entice Berenger… but Ancel drops his hand and steps away. If Berenger wanted an omega he would have bought one. Masquerading as something he isn’t has rarely served Ancel well.

He leaves his hair down and his face unpainted. He puts on a simple white tunic, unlaced at the neck, and goes to wait in Berenger’s bed. He’s the very picture of alluring submissiveness- surely Berenger will see that Ancel won’t use his status as an alpha to try and get a leg over him, and then their relationship can proceed as normal.

The first time Berenger fucks him he’ll realize how heady it is to take an alpha, and then he’ll fall head over heels into a deep infatuation and Ancel won’t have to worry so much about the precariousness of his position.

He doesn’t have to wait long for the door to open and Berenger to return. He stops when he sees Ancel waiting, his jaw tight. Ancel watches the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallows, and that’s enough for him to know he’s hit the bulls-eye.

“Ancel,” Berenger says and makes no move to come closer. “What are you doing here?”

Ancel smiles- careful to keep it soft, unthreatening- and stands from the bed to walk towards his master. “I thought it might be good for us to… get to know each other better.”

He stops barely a step away from Berenger to look up into his dark brown eyes. This is the closest he’s ever been and there’s something itching at the back of his awareness, something strange and _wrong_ about Berenger but he can’t figure out what.

Berenger purses his lips and looks down, somewhere past Ancel’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem nervous, exactly. But he seems unaffected by Ancel’s proximity, which is unusual to say the least. Ancel steps closer, taking a chance and sliding his hand up Berenger’s arm and over his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck. He leans in, aiming to press a kiss to the corner of Berenger’s mouth.

Berenger makes a small sound and steps back, twisting away from the touch. “Ancel- no,” he says. “That’s- not why I bought your contract.”

Ancel blinks slowly as he watches Berenger retreat to the window. He frowns as he realizes what it was that was troubling him before.

Berenger doesn’t smell like a beta. He doesn’t smell like _anything._ If Ancel couldn’t see him with his own eyes, he might have thought he was standing in the room alone.

“Why did you, then?” Ancel asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not sure what to make of this new development. He doesn’t like finding himself on uncertain ground.

“When you were in the ring with that omega…” Berenger starts, trailing off to lick his lips. He’s still not quite looking at Ancel and for some reason that’s strange too. “Everyone was shouting for you to knot him. Why didn’t you?”

Ancel snorts in derision. “Everyone thinks they want to see an omega knotted, but they inevitably find the following fifteen minutes rather tedious.”

“That’s not it,” Berenger says. “The omega was begging you, and still you didn’t do it.”

“The omega’s name is Jean,” Ancel says a bit testily. Tired of posing, he sits at the dining table and braces his bare knee against the edge of it, reaching over to the platter of fancy pastries he’d ordered earlier. He’d planned to have Berenger feed them to him while they lounged around in bed in a haze of post-coital bliss, but alas. He’s failed to predict Berenger’s infuriating lack of cooperation.

Ancel picks up a fruit tart and bites into it viciously. “He helped me get my first court contract, a year and a half ago. And no matter what he might have been begging for in the ring, before the performance he asked me not to. So I didn’t.”

“But he was in pre-heat,” Berenger continues. “And-”

“And what?” Ancel bursts out. “I’m not an animal! Alphas can control themselves just fine, they just choose not to because they can get away with it-”

He stops abruptly as it dawns on him why exactly Berenger bought him. He thinks he sees Berenger’s lips quirk up into an almost smile.

“That’s why,” Ancel says slowly. “You want to change the law, don’t you. You want to make an example of me.” It makes perfect sense- Berenger wants the laws he’s enacted in Varenne to be accepted in all of Vere. And he needs Ancel, an alpha on a leash, to prove that his policies are reasonable.

“Yes,” Berenger says. “I should have told you from the beginning, but I wasn’t certain how to… broach the subject. I’m sorry.”

Ancel’s never heard a Lord apologize before. He decides he likes it.

“Well,” he says slowly, licking the powdered sugar from his fingers before reaching towards the pastry platter for another tart. “Alright. I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Berenger asks.

“You certainly can’t do it alone,” Ancel says, rolling his eyes.

“But-” Berenger leans against the window sill, sliding his hands into his pockets. “If I succeed- the new laws will affect you too. Aren’t you concerned about what that might mean?”

Ancel pauses, more surprised that Berenger would even care about Ancel’s _concerns_ than worried for his own fate. Maybe it’s strange, but he’s not concerned at all. In fact, he feels excited. He’s tired of holding himself to a higher standard while spoiled selfish alpha Lords continue to look down on him as someone lesser. Let them all be dragged up to his level by force or suffer for it.

“Tell me,” Ancel says thoughtfully. “Is it true that in Varenne rapist alphas get their balls cut off?”

Berenger flushes and looks away, his lips tightening into a thin line. “After the second offense, yes.”

Maybe Ancel should be horrified. Instead he laughs. He might be an alpha, but he lets men fuck him for a living. His status is closer to an omega’s than most.

“I see that doesn’t trouble you,” Berenger says dryly.

“No,” Ancel says. “I can think of a few alphas in court who deserve the same fate. My answer hasn’t changed- I’ll help you.”

“And what will you demand in return?”

“Oh,” Ancel says, letting a wolfish smirk spread over his lips. If Berenger doesn’t want to fuck him, then he doesn’t need to play at being a sheep. “Gifts, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And we have to pretend to be fucking. It’s not good for my reputation otherwise.”

“Alright.”

“And…” Ancel pauses, frowning as he thinks of all the private hurts and disappointments he’s been harboring since coming to court. There are so many Lords eager to try him out, to treat him like a plaything, but they always lose interest so quickly. They always throw him away. 

“The longest anyone’s kept a contract with me is a month,” Ancel says, careful to make sure his voice doesn’t waver. “You’ll keep me for our full agreed-upon term, or until I decide to end it.”

“Alright.”

Ancel smiles, standing. “You’re very agreeable, my lord.”

“You present fair terms,” Berenger says with a small nod.

“Tomorrow morning then,” Ancel says. “We’ll discuss how to proceed.”

He takes the platter of pastries with him on his way back to his own room, giddy at the thought of his life taking a fresh and interesting turn at last.

* * *

Ancel joins Berenger for breakfast the following morning. Berenger eats plain toast and eggs and drinks some foul-smelling tea while Ancel gorges himself on dainty sandwiches topped with smoked fish and caviar, followed by buttery flaky pastries filled with chocolate.

“So tell me,” Ancel starts gleefully. “What horrible blunders have you made so far?”

“None, I should hope,” Berenger says with a wry twist of his lips. “This is my first time at court.” At Ancel’s shocked look he elaborates. “I was a sickly child. It’s left me with… a weak constitution.”

Berenger seems the perfect picture of good health to Ancel- his body trim and lean, his skin tanned from frequent outings in the sun. He knows by now Berenger makes a point of riding at least once per day, though sometimes more frequently than that. When Berenger smells of anything at all, it’s usually of horse.

“Hmm,” is all Ancel says, tearing into a pastry with his fingers.

“The Council proposes laws and amendments,” Berenger continues. “I thought to approach Guion. They say his youngest son is an omega, so perhaps Guion may be swayed.”

Ancel snorts out a laugh. “Oh darling, you’re so lucky you’ve got me on your side.”

Berenger frowns but doesn’t protest the mocking endearment.

“If you want to change the law you have to convince King Auguste, and leave it to him convince the council. If you want to get to Auguste, you have to go through Prince Laurent.”

“Prince Laurent is an alpha, same as his brother,” Berenger says. “I hardly think either of them would be amenable to my reforms.”

Ancel laughs again before popping a piece of pastry into his mouth. “Oh, you should have heard the screaming matches between Laurent and Damianos when he visited with the Akielon delegation last year,” he says. “There might have been another war if it weren’t for King Auguste and Damianos’ man, Nikandros, bodily dragging them away from each other when it nearly came to blows. Laurent is certainly sympathetic to the plight of omegas.”

“Prince Laurent is ever at his brother’s side,” Berenger says. “How do you propose I speak to him?”

“If you want to get to Laurent,” Ancel says, “you have to go through his pet.”

Berenger’s expression sours. “The omega child,” he says with a scowl.

“Nicaise is hardly a child,” Ancel says. “He’s nearly fifteen. And anyway- that’s not how it is between them, so there’s no need to look so put off.”

“But they say-” Berenger starts.

Ancel laughs. “You really are fresh, aren’t you. Laurent plays along with any rumor that helps hide the fact he’s actually got a beating heart under that icy exterior.”

Ancel taps his fingernail against the rim of his teacup, containing a much more delicious blend than whatever slop Berenger is drinking. “Nicaise is a shit,” he says at last. “He doesn’t give a fuck about omega rights, all he cares about is games and jewels. So we can’t go to him directly, we’ll have to entice him to come to us.”

“So what do you propose?” Berenger asks.

Ancel grins, setting down his teacup with a decisive clink. “Leave it to me, my lord. I know just what to do.”

* * *

Ancel is the most infamous pet at court, so it’s easy for him to organize a few small gatherings in intimate parlors and sitting rooms. He’s careful about the guests at each one, mulling over every little group for hours.

He knows how to play the game and he knows all the players. He’s good at it- the best. Granted, in the past he’s done it to help his masters in their business dealings and political ambitions, not as part of some noble quest to change policy and improve omega standing under the law. It’s mostly the same, either way.

It’s all about planting seeds and carefully cultivating them until they’re ready for harvest.

The first few meetings are casual. Ancel makes sure the conversation stays fun and light. Berenger needs allies for the coming battle, and it’s easier to make allies when talking horse breeding or wine rather than highly controversial politics.

At larger parties, Berenger is a washed out wall-flower. In the intimate gatherings Ancel sets up, Berenger shines.

There’s something about him- something difficult to describe. His attention feels precious, hard-won. He draws people in, makes them want his approval. He never laughs and smiles only sparingly, so each smile feels like a rare gift. He has a way of charming everybody, alphas and omegas alike, and not once does Ancel see him misstep and get an alpha’s hackles up.

Encouraged, Ancel starts to bring in some of the more serious players and the gatherings grow a bit more heated as they start discussing policy.

“It’s unnatural,” Droet says with a disdainful frown one night, his omega pet sitting in his lap and playing with his hair. “We’re all animals at our core, are we not? It’s the natural order of things- alphas rule, omegas submit. We have urges, instincts that can’t be contained.”

“The way I see it,” Berenger says, deceptively mild, “animals with urges that can’t be contained should be locked up in cages or put down, so they’re not a danger to those around them.”

Droet frowns, a growl building deep in his throat.

Ancel laughs, breaking the tense moment, and moves so he’s draped over Berenger’s side. He sets his hand over the back of Berenger’s neck and digs his nails in a little as warning.

“I hear the Akielons train all their omegas into bed slaves,” he says, keeping his voice light. “They distribute them amongst the alpha nobility- to protect them, they say. From common alphas, who don’t have the manners and self-control to handle them properly. I hear the Akielons think their way only natural too.”

“God help us,” Councilman Herode moans. “Haven’t we heard enough of this argument last year- shouted from every corner of the palace?”

Ancel laughs. Berenger brings himself to smile. Barely.

“Indeed,” Ancel says, turning to Vannes who’s watching them curiously. “And what do they consider natural in Vask, Lady Vannes?”

Vannes smirks, revealing her alpha-sharp canines. “They gather up all the male alphas and muzzle them, and force them to fight to the death in grand stadiums so only the strongest become breeding stock.”

Droet pales while his omega pet hides a smile against his shoulder.

“So you see, what Varenne has implemented is not so extreme,” Ancel says, twisting the knife while he can.

“I suppose not,” Droet says, swallowing.

The conversation continues and Ancel turns to nuzzle Berenger’s jaw. “Kiss me,” he whispers. This is the perfect opportunity to play at lovers, one they haven’t taken yet.

Berenger turns his head dutifully and they kiss, but it’s something disappointing and nearly clinical. Ancel pulls back and nips at Berenger’s earlobe.

 _“Kiss me,”_ he hisses. “Like you mean it.”

For a moment Berenger seems taken aback, but then he does as he’s told. He kisses Ancel with abandon, and it might have been perfect except for how he doesn’t smell aroused at all. He doesn’t smell like anything.

Ancel stands and drags Berenger to his feet, pulling him away before anyone else can notice.

“Good night,” Vannes says with a wink.

“And to you,” Ancel says before leading Berenger out.

He’s silent until they’re in their rooms again, and then he can’t quite contain his aggression and shoves Berenger up against a wall.

“That won’t do at all,” he growls, angry. No one- not one single person- has failed to be aroused by him. Until now.

“Ancel-” Berenger says, looking away.

Ancel has never met a beta who’s had this much trouble maintaining eye contact. It might have been endearing in an omega, but now it suddenly makes him furious.

“It’s your stupid smelly _tea,”_ Ancel snarls, satisfied at how Berenger flinches. “It hides your scent and I _hate_ it. How are we meant to convince everyone we’re lovers when you smell of nothing?!”

“It’s medicinal,” Berenger says defensively.

Ancel takes a deep breath as he tries to master himself, and then another. It's a struggle to uncurl his hands from Berenger's jacket but he takes another breath and steps back, letting go.

“You'll keep drinking it,” he says flatly, more statement than question. “I want to try something. Come on.”

He takes Berenger’s hand and leads him into his own room, stopping before his dressing table and his carefully arranged collection of perfumes. He picks up one of the small vials, the omega pheromones in the lavender oil. He opens it and shoves it under Berenger’s nose.

He’s hoping to provoke arousal, but Berenger goes faintly green and rears back, swallowing hard like he’s trying to keep down bile.

“Ancel!” he gasps out before coughing, his eyes watering. “What is that?”

“Omega pheromones,” Ancel says with a frown, confused. “It’s- it’s to help you-”

“Put it away,” Berenger says, waving his hand in front of his face to dissipate the remains of the fumes in the air.

Ancel takes an experimental sniff but all he smells is lavender and ripe omega. His cock stirs despite himself, the _normal_ reaction. Even betas have a hard time not reacting to omegas in heat, but not Berenger.

“Why must you be so difficult?” Ancel grouses, closing the delicate bottle and setting it back down.

“Where did you even get that?” Berenger demands.

“It’s just omega saliva, distilled and mixed with oil,” Ancel says. “I help some of the omega pets through their heats sometimes, they’re happy to share. It’s not like I murdered someone.”

“Gods,” Berenger breathes out, finally looking steadier. “I don’t need _that_ to get aroused. I just need…”

“Well?” Ancel demands, setting his hands on his hips. “What?”

Berenger closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

 _“What?”_ Ancel pushes. “Just fucking tell me so we can move on.”

Berenger hesitates a moment longer before his shoulders drop and he sighs. “Alright,” he says quietly, taking a step closer. “Alright. Can I…?”

Ancel simply waits as Berenger takes another step. He’s looking down at his feet as he raises a hand to carefully set it on the side of Ancel’s neck, his thumb rubbing over Ancel’s scent gland, just under his jaw.

Ancel has no idea what Berenger’s doing as he slides his hand into the hair at Ancel’s nape, angling his head to the side and leaning in-

_Oh._

Ancel’s eyes widen as Berenger nuzzles against his throat, and then opens his mouth to _suck._

“Ah,” Ancel exhales despite himself, heat rushing through him as his hands drift down to hold on to Berenger’s waist. Berenger’s _scenting_ him, and since when do betas do that? Since when do they do it with _alphas-_

But Ancel can smell it now, he can smell Berenger for the first time- faint but undoubtedly there. His eyes flutter closed as he presses closer. Berenger doesn’t smell like any beta he’s ever known. He smells musky and almost sweet and it’s instinct that has Ancel turning his head to press his nose to Berenger’s neck, moving to return the favor.

Which is when Berenger steps back. He looks flushed, his pupils blown. With the distance between them his smell quickly fades and Berenger bites his lip, looking anywhere but at Ancel.

“Oh,” Ancel says, dumbfounded. “You’re the strangest beta I’ve ever met.”

There’s a pinched look around Berenger’s eyes but he stays silent.

“Well, obviously we can’t do that in public,” Ancel says. It’s too odd, bordering on unnatural. If anyone saw Berenger getting off on scenting an alpha there would be all sorts of rumors and that wouldn’t be good for anybody. Least of all Ancel.

“Obviously,” Berenger says with a faint quirk to his lips.

“There’s a magnolia tree blooming in the pleasure gardens,” Ancel says. “The smell is strong enough to block out most else. I’ll arrange for us to be caught kissing against it, and that should be enough.”

“Yes,” Berenger says, still shifty. “Thank you.”

He practically runs from the room, which- _rude._

Ancel lets him go. He’s had enough strangeness for one night.

* * *

Ancel times their little scene carefully, not too soon after dinner, but not too late into the night. He leads Berenger to the pleasure gardens and the magnolia tree, standing with his back pressed against it and pulling Berenger in for a kiss.

He lets himself enjoy it. For all his other flaws, Berenger is an excellent kisser. He’s slow and tender, passionate. He knows how to angle his head and how to move, how to swipe his tongue into Ancel’s mouth. They’re at it for a few minutes before Ancel hears the approaching footsteps, and he’s surprised at how annoyed he feels at the planned interruption.

“Ancel,” says a high snooty voice. “What’s this, three weeks? A record for you, I’m sure.”

Berenger pulls away and Ancel exhales a sharp breath, licking his lips to capture any lingering trace of him.

“Nicaise,” Ancel says, opening his eyes to see the gleeful jewel-draped boy standing before them.

“Oh, I’m mistaken,” Nicaise says with a grin. “You were with Droet for near a month, weren’t you. But maybe that’s because he was too busy fucking his omega to remember to dismiss you.”

Ancel frowns, barely containing the desire to stick out his tongue. Even despite the magnolias he can smell the lingering sweetness in the air. Nicaise recently finished his heat, as recently as the previous night.

“Should you be wandering around on your own in your condition?” Ancel asks, arching an eyebrow. “You know there are alphas prowling about.”

“So?” Nicaise says, inspecting his nails. “They know better than to touch me. And if not- it’s been a while since Laurent’s cut anyone’s hands off for me.”

He smirks, a surprisingly alpha-like expression that he no doubt learned from the King himself. Ancel finds himself smirking in return. “Indeed,” he says. Berenger seems tense beside him so Ancel takes his hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“I hear you’ve been having private parties,” Nicaise says with a pout. “And you’ve never invited me? How rude.”

“I didn’t think you were interested in discussing politics,” Ancel says, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but Laurent is,” Nicaise says, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Lately he’s been corresponding with that Akielon brute so he’s been in an awful mood. He could use the distraction, and so could I. I might be enticed to bring him, if there’s hakesh.”

“As if Laurent would let you have any,” Ancel says, victory singing through his veins. This couldn’t have gone any better.

Nicaise shrugs. “It’s worth a try. He can be very unpredictable.”

“Tomorrow night, then,” Ancel says. “Vannes will be there too. I’ll ask her to brink hakesh.”

“Tomorrow, Red,” Nicaise says with a wink and saunters off.

Once he’s out of earshot Ancel giggles and takes Berenger’s other hand, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “See? Just as I said. Whatever would you do without me?”

“I simply don’t know,” Berenger says dryly. The effect is somewhat ruined by his hair, still mussed from before, when they’d been kissing. Ancel releases one of his hands to brush it back into place. Berenger looks down and even in the darkness, Ancel can tell he’s blushing.

“I deserve a gift now, for sure,” Ancel says, leading the way back to their rooms.

Berenger is silent until they’re in their sitting room, intimately lit by a fire crackling in the grate and a few lamps set out over the side tables.

“Here,” Berenger says, reaching into his jacket to pull out a small satin bag.

Ancel grins as he takes it, opening it to find a pair of glittering diamond earrings. He laughs and slips them on, enjoying the weight of them. They’re expensive- maybe even more expensive than the emerald necklace.

“You’re my best investment yet,” Ancel says. There’s no mirror, so he tilts his head to the side and winks at Berenger. “How do I look?”

“Lovely,” Berenger says before looking away again. “Good night, Ancel,” he adds before beating a hasty retreat.

* * *

The meeting with Laurent goes swimmingly. Laurent is properly fascinated by Berenger’s proposals and Berenger manages to turn his charm up a few notches. They talk late into the night as all the other guests slowly take their leave, and finally it’s the four of them- Berenger, Laurent, Ancel, and Nicaise- and Ancel raises his eyebrow at Nicaise, imploring.

Nicaise grins in response and the two of them slip away too, leaving Laurent and Berenger to their own devices.

It might have been scandalous for an alpha and omega to stroll through the gardens unaccompanied under other circumstances, but Ancel has a good reputation and as Prince Laurent’s pet, Nicaise is beyond reproach.

When Nicaise yawns Ancel offers him his arm and Nicaise takes it with a grin.

“Who did you spend your heat with?” Ancel asks, pitching his voice low.

Nicaise laughs. “What, jealous? You might have been my first, but you won’t be my last.”

Ancel laughs too. Nicaise’s first heat had been half a year ago and Ancel had helped him through it- _platonically-_ with mutual scenting and some light petting.

“There’s a stableboy,” Nicaise whispers, leaning close. He sounds dreamy as he looks off into the night. “Emile. He takes care of Laurent’s horses and he has eyes like honey.”

Ancel giggles. “No,” he whispers back, surprised that Nicaise is even capable of infatuation, with the cold vicious mask he wears.

“Yes,” Nicaise says, giggling too. “He’s only a year older and he’s- he-” Nicaise breaks off to blush, looking away. “He’s sweet,” he says at last.

“I’m happy for you,” Ancel says, squeezing his hand gently.

“And I for you,” Nicaise says, unusually sappy with the late hour. “Berenger seems a good match. He seems to really care for you.”

“Yes,” Ancel says, his mood souring. He knows full well that Berenger is only using him, just like everyone else. That has never bothered him before, but for some reason it bothers him now.

“What’s the matter?” Nicaise asks. “Surely it’s a good sign that he’s taking things slow?”

“Excuse me?” Ancel asks, suddenly nervous.

Nicaise scoffs. “You can’t lie to me. I know you too well, and my senses are still heightened from my heat. You haven’t fucked yet. Isn’t that good?”

“I’m not sure,” Ancel answers, more honestly than he meant to.

“It’s good,” Nicaise announces with all the certainty of someone who doesn’t know any better. “He wants you. He really wants you. When you finally bed him there’ll be sparks in the air, I know it.”

“Maybe,” Ancel hedges. He’s not sure that day will ever come.

* * *

After the first meeting, Ancel doesn’t need to contrive any other schemes to catch Laurent’s attention. He seeks out Berenger on his own and they talk for ages, writing and ripping up endless iterations of policy proposals.

Ancel leaves them to it, bored out of his mind and praying for them to just be _done_ already.

It’s easily the most boring two weeks of Ancel’s life, but finally he returns to his rooms after a late-night entertainment to find Berenger and Laurent sharing a bottle of wine over a finished proposal.

“-and His Majesty will consider it?” Berenger is saying.

“Leave that part to me,” Laurent says with a smirk and a dangerous glint in his eyes. “And I fully intend to send a copy to that puffed-up bull in Akielos, let him read it and weep into the bosoms of his omega slaves-”

Ancel laughs, cutting Laurent off. “You seem to talk about that puffed-up bull an awful lot, Your Highness.”

Laurent abruptly closes his mouth, two spots of color high on his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “And anyway, I’d better go. Berenger- we’ll meet in three months time to discuss how to proceed?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Berenger says with a low bow.

Laurent leaves, throwing one last glare at Ancel before he’s gone.

“So it’s done?” Ancel asks, giddy at the prospect. He’s given Berenger everything wanted, and there are still at least four months left in their contract. Now they can go on walks through the gardens and attend entertainments and parties. They can spend quiet evenings together in their rooms and talk about wine and gossip and, under protest, all the boring things Berenger likes.

Ancel’s sure that if he has enough time he can really make Berenger fall for him, alpha or not. And then Berenger will renew their contract, and give him gifts, and one day even kiss him in the privacy of their own rooms, when it’s not for show. Maybe he’ll fuck Ancel too, or let Ancel fuck him. Some betas like that, Ancel knows as much from experience. Berenger would like it. Ancel would make it so good for him. For both of them.

“It’s done,” Berenger says with one of his rare smiles. “I’ve already sent word to Parsins. He’s sending servants to pack my things so I can leave tomorrow. Thank you, Ancel. For everything.”

He’s still _smiling_ and Ancel wants to slap the expression right off his face.

“What?” he asks, his voice shaking. He knows a dismissal when he hears one. He’s heard enough of them before.

“I’m returning to Varenne,” Berenger says with a faint confused frown. “There’s no reason for me to stay here now. My work is done.”

“I see,” Ancel spits out, furious even as tears rise to his eyes. He fights to blink them back. Alphas don’t _cry._

“Ancel,” Berenger says, stepping forward. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the _matter?”_ Ancel echoes bitterly, backing away as he balls his hands into fists. He doesn’t know why he thought Berenger would be different. For all his odd little quirks, he’s just the same as every other one of Ancel’s masters. He’s gotten what he’s wanted and now he’s throwing Ancel away like trash.

He knows better than to argue, he learned that lesson after his first master fucked him and dismissed him that same night. He’d argued then. Right up until his master had laughed and said-

_“Easy, boy. Take it with grace or I’ll tell everyone what a volatile little beast you are. Who do you think they’ll believe? Me, or some rubbish that’s drifted in off the streets?”_

So Ancel had taken it with _grace,_ and then he’d done the same with every other Lord who’d tired of him before their contract was up.

“I’ve given you everything you wanted, and now you’re done with me?” Ancel demands against his better judgement. “We had a deal! You said you wouldn’t end my contract!”

“Unless you ended it first,” Berenger says, his eyes soft. He takes another step closer and Ancel backs away until his back hits the wall. He swallows around the knot in his throat but it’s no use. 

Berenger watches him, his lack of scent rendering his expression unreadable. Ancel hates it now more than he’s ever hated it before. “Aren’t you… ending it?” Berenger asks.

“Why would _I_ end it?” Ancel bites out, his voice shaking. If he’s honest with himself, he might admit his time with Berenger has been the best of his life. The gifts, the rare smiles, scheming together- and for a good cause for once instead of senseless self-promotion. And he hadn’t had to put up with any of the demeaning things his other masters had demanded of him- pretending to be an omega in heat, begging and contorting himself into all sorts of uncomfortable positions. Pretending he liked it.

Ancel forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s being _emotional,_ and that’s never done him any good. He bites at the inside of his cheek and the sharp pain distracts him enough that he can straighten to his full height and relax his hands out of their fists.

“Of course, it’s as you like, my lord,” he says sweetly, inclining his head in a nod. He’ll be fucking _gracious_ if it kills him. Berenger can get fucked. “If you’re finished with me, we’d better end this now. Safe travels.”

He turns to go but Berenger grabs his hand, pulling him back.

“Ancel, no,” he says quietly.

“No, _what,”_ Ancel says, composure crumbling as he shakes Berenger off. “I’m leaving, just like you wanted. I can’t believe I trusted you.”

“Ancel, please,” Berenger says. And then he _sinks to his knees_ and reaches for Ancel’s hand once more. Ancel lets him take hold of it, too shocked to do anything else. “I think- I think this is a misunderstanding,” Berenger says.

Ancel swallows heavily. He feels confused and off balance, and Berenger- a nobleman! a Lord of an entire province!- is _kneeling_ for him.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Berenger continues. “But I have duties in Varenne. I simply- I never once imagined you might wish to come with me.”

“What?” Ancel asks faintly.

“Varenne is remote,” Berenger says. “It’s not as luxurious as Arles, not by far. When the snows come it will be dreary and cold. I love it there, it’s my home. But even I can admit most people find it somewhat… miserable.”

“Oh,” Ancel whispers.

“I never imagined you’d wish to leave Arles, but that was a poor assumption on my part. I should have asked. I would very much like it if you joined me in Varenne, but it is your choice.”

 _“My_ choice,” Ancel repeats, still dumbfounded. Berenger is looking up at him, and that’s just- strange and suddenly too much. Ancel snatches his hand out of Berenger’s grasp and backs up a step. “Stand up. Stand up before someone sees and you embarrass the both of us.”

Berenger rises to his feet and Ancel swallows, slightly giddy at the way things have turned. Giddy under the full weight Berenger’s attention.

“How- how long would we be there?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Two months, give or take,” Berenger says. “Depending on how quickly the snows clear.”

“Well,” Ancel says, trying not to smile like a dope. 

He’s been in Arles for what seems like ages. It might be good to get a change of scenery. It might do his reputation good to disappear mysteriously for a bit. When he returns he’ll be the talk of the court, and then he can land a better contract. Or maybe he can seduce Berenger, finally, while they’re locked up together in some drafty castle drinking mulled wine by the fire while the snows come down outside.

“I’m not ending our contract,” he says at last, tilting his chin up like he’s daring Berenger to contradict him.

Berenger smiles and it makes Ancel’s heart skip a beat. He knows all of Berenger’s smiles now- the tense one that doesn’t reach his eyes, the quietly amused one that makes him look down and his lashes flutter against his cheek, the genuinely pleased one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. This one is new, full of uncomplicated joy. Ancel has a feeling that if he says the right thing now, he can make Berenger laugh. _Really_ laugh, not one of the forced chuckles he’s managed before.

But he doesn’t know what to say and when Berenger looks down he knows the moment has passed.

“I had a farewell present for you,” Berenger says. “But I suppose you don’t want it now.”

“Of course I-” Ancel breaks off when he realizes Berenger is making a joke. Berenger is _joking_ with him, and not in that dry sarcastic way he has either. It’s a real joke, and Ancel laughs with delight.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Ancel says once he’s calmed.

“Yes,” Berenger says, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small black case.

Ancel opens it, smiling even before he sees the lovely diamond necklace within. “Help me put it on,” he says, turning and lifting his hair. He closes his eyes as Berenger drapes the necklace around his neck and closes the clasp, lingering slightly with his fingertips dragging against Ancel’s skin before drawing away.

“I’ll talk to Parsins,” Ancel says, not turning so Berenger won’t see his blush. “I’ll have him pack my things too.”

* * *

It takes a week to reach Berenger’s fort in Varenne on horseback. Ancel might have been bored except for the way Berenger seems to relax the further they get from the capital. His smiles come more easily and his- admittedly dry- jokes increase in frequency.

The fort itself is sadly just as miserable as he’s led Ancel to believe.

“You seem disappointed,” Berenger says with a small quirk to his lips when they walk into the drafty main hall.

“Hmm,” Ancel says, frowning at the bare walls and vaulted ceilings. “It’s certainly miserable.” He takes Berenger’s arm as they walk through the halls. “We can brighten it up with some tapestries,” he says. “...You do have tapestries, don’t you? Please tell me there are tapestries.”

“My father had a rather… _eclectic_ collection of brutal hunting scenes, made of leather and bits of fur and painted with animal blood.”

Ancel looks over at Berenger in horror only to see him smiling as he looks carefully straight ahead. Another joke. Ancel’s not sure his heart can take this easy version of him. His laces aren’t even fully done up at the neck.

“My mother favored court scenes, though,” Berenger says, taking mercy on him. “I’m sure you’ll like some of them. The ones embellished with gold thread, perhaps.”

Ancel releases a sigh of relief.

“And the ones stitched with pearl beads,” Berenger continues. “And the portrait of the first King of Artes, where his cloak is made of red silk and his crown is decorated with real jewels.”

“I’ll be putting that one in my bedroom,” Ancel announces. This winter is going to be amazing, he can feel it in his gut.

“I’ll have the chamberlain show you around in the morning,” Berenger says. “You can take your pick.”

“That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said all day,” Ancel replies.

Berenger retires early that night but Ancel spends his evening pleasantly enough, arranging all of his clothes and jewels in his new room, off a sitting chamber he shares with Berenger. After breakfast the following day Ancel goes exploring through the fort, noting curiously that all of Berenger’s servants are betas. There’s not a single omega or alpha in sight and that’s strange, though not stranger than all the other little incongruencies Ancel has already noted.

With the help of the chamberlain he selects tapestries to put up and arranges for fir branches to be brought in from the forest and woven into wreaths. He orders the utilitarian lamps to be emptied and refilled with oil laced with citrus and pine. He has rooms aired out and cold floors covered with bright jewel-toned rugs, and within the week he has Berenger’s fort looking and smelling festive rather than dreary and depressing.

Berenger lets him get on with it without comment but Ancel can tell he’s pleased. He’s not sure what Berenger is more pleased with- the changes themselves or the fact that Ancel is clearly settling in. It’s freeing being the only alpha around. Everyone defers to him easily in a way he isn’t used to. 

But maybe that’s more due to the fact that he isn’t riff-raff, in Varenne. In Varenne, he is the beloved Lord Berenger’s treasured pet.

As the weather grows colder Berenger keeps busy, visiting outlying villages and having endless meetings. He visits farms and collects taxes, inspects standing troops and militias, makes sure his people are well-supplied and ready for the coming winter. Sometimes Ancel accompanies him, more because Berenger seems to like it than because Ancel enjoys any of it himself.

Although he can’t deny the occasional thrill he gets watching Berenger verbally eviscerate a mayor he catches embezzling tax funds, or calling out corrections as he watches a local militia practicing tactical maneuvers.

It’s a simple life, strange and wonderful. There’s no gossip, no posturing, no scheming. Sometimes Ancel misses it, but the feeling never lasts for long. He’s always brought back to the present quickly enough- by the way Berenger hums, pleased, as he finishes penning a correspondence, or by how _warm_ his skin is when Ancel helps him with his laces, or simply by watching the way he rides- hips moving in the saddle, smooth and easy. Like he was was born to it.

There’s a rhythm to it, a routine of work and meals and the occasional outing. It’s broken one day when Ancel wakes to an uncharacteristically dark room. He’s not sure what time it is, but based on the gritty feeling in his eyes, he’s slept longer than he meant to. When he throws his curtains back in confusion it’s to see the sky is dark, overcast. There’s a delicate tracery of frost covering the window like the finest embroidery, and beyond it- huge clumping snowflakes drifting down from the sky.

Ancel stares in wonder. He’s used to warm climes, not this. He’d only ever seen snow for the first time a year ago, when he’d come to Arles. It hadn’t been like this, though. It had been a faint scattering of snowflakes that were quickly churned into mud by the near-constant traffic of horses and courtiers, troops and merchants.

This, now- feels like the land is hushed, sleeping. The ground and every little bush and tree and building is covered in a thick blanket of the purest white, glittering faintly. If he listens close, Ancel can hear it- a faint pattering like the gentlest rain. It feels like magic.

Eventually the grumbling of Ancel’s stomach pulls him away. There’s a strange sleepy feeling in the air, restful. He allows himself to be too lazy to dress, forgoing his usual silks in favor of a long flannel sleep shirt with a dressing gown over it, the inside lined with fur and the outside silk brocade shimmering with green and gold and red. It’s Berenger’s most recent gift along with a pair of fur-lined slippers, the garments pleasantly warm.

Ancel can tell it’s past noon and breakfast is long past. He wanders down to the kitchens to grab a bite to eat before going in search of Berenger.

He finds him soon enough in the very first place he looks- the study. Rather than sitting at his desk bent over his work, Berenger is lounging on the sofa in front of the fire, reading a heavy tome. He looks up at Ancel’s entrance and smiles.

Ancel smiles back, his heart speeding up. The room is warm and cozy. Berenger isn’t in his ugly brown jacket for once. He’s wearing plain trousers and a white linen shirt, unlaced at the neck and sleeves. His sleeves are rolled back to bare his forearms, his hair is tousled and he’s got a faint blush over his cheeks, a half-drunk bottle of wine on a small table beside him within easy reach.

He’s _drunk,_ Ancel realizes as he walks closer. And in the middle of the day, too. Or maybe not drunk, not yet, but getting there. The book he’s reading doesn’t seem as official and stuffy as what Ancel usually sees him perusing. There’s an illustration embossed on the cover embellished with gold. It depicts a garden and a man dressed like a warrior kneeling before a beautiful youth.

“Well now,” Ancel says. “No work today?”

“No, not today,” Berenger says, smiling even wider. “It’s the first snow fall. A bit of a tradition of mine. The roads won’t be cleared until after it’s finished, no messages can get in or out. For now, I’m free.”

“You’re drunk,” Ancel teases, picking up the bottle to give it a careful sniff. It’s a fine wine, sweet and red. Ancel takes a sip. It tastes even better than it smells.

“I’m… celebrating,” Berenger says. “Would you care to join me?”

“What are you reading?” Ancel asks, taking another drink. He’s not sure he can handle seeing Berenger like this- so relaxed and untroubled, _unlaced._

“Isagoras,” Berenger says.

Ancel knows all about Isagoras, the sad white cliffs of Ios and the lovers and the flowers and blah blah blah. Tedious.

“Maybe you could read it to me,” Ancel says. Before he can question himself too hard he settles himself on the couch so he’s half-lying on Berenger’s chest.

Berenger freezes, his breath stuttering. And then he exhales, and relaxes, and rests one hand on Ancel’s back while holding the book with the other. He starts reading the Akielon verse, his voice husky and pleasant, lyrical almost like a song.

“It means-” he says in Veretian.

“I don’t need to know what it means,” Ancel murmurs, turning his head so his nose is pressed to the bare skin of Berenger’s chest, revealed through the unlaced “V” of his shirt. He smells of sweet wine and of the citrus oil Ancel had put in the lamps, of smoke and pine. He smells like a holiday. “Keep going.”

Berenger huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh and continues to read.

Ancel listens, enjoying the lilt of his voice and the warmth of his body, watching the fire in the hearth. It’s a lovely moment, something he’d never thought he could have with anyone. Eventually his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off just like that, warm and satisfied, calm.

He wakes, eventually, to find the daylight has faded. Berenger is still reading, silently now, and absently stroking his hair. It’s wonderful and Ancel hopes it will last forever.

His stomach grumbles loudly and Berenger freezes.

“Can we pretend you didn’t hear that?” Ancel mutters, reluctant to leave his cozy spot draped over Berenger’s chest.

“And leave a hungry alpha roaming around?” Berenger asks, the amusement in his voice clear. “What a dangerous proposal.”

Ancel sighs, sitting up.

They have a pleasant dinner together in their shared sitting room, Berenger listening attentively as Ancel tells him about Nicaise’s latest letter and all the scandalous court gossip. They have dessert after, or at least- Ancel does.

Berenger watches, smiling fondly and drinking a sweet after-dinner cordial, while Ancel demolishes a plate of tiny delicate pastries topped in chocolate shavings and sugar crystals styled to look like gemstones.

Ancel is antsy after, keyed up. It makes sense- he’s practically napped the whole day away.

“Let’s take a walk through the gardens” he says, pulling the glass out of Berenger’s hand and finishing it off before setting it on the table with a decisive clink.

“Now?” Berenger asks, surprised. 

“Now,” Ancel says with a grin. “Get dressed!” he orders before standing and going back to his own room. He puts on clothes and winter boots, the fur lined cloak and gloves Berenger had gifted him when they’d first arrived in Varenne.

He returns to the sitting room to find Berenger similarly attired and they walk arm in arm through the halls and out into the courtyard.

The snow has slowed to tiny perfectly formed snowflakes drifting from the black sky, the landscape covered in a thick blanket of it, glittering under the full moon. Their footsteps crunch as they walk, their breath coming out in small white puffs. The air is cold against Ancel’s face, his cheeks growing ruddy with it. But he’s pleasantly warm, as much from the wine and the company as from his clothes.

The gardens are modest compared to the sprawling paths and flowerbeds in Arles, but lovely all the same. The night seems full of a quiet sort of magic, trembling with potential. There’s an iced-over pond, and beside it a gazebo. Ancel pulls away from Berenger to walk up the steps, looking around at the elegant columns and finely carved stone benches. There’s only a faint dusting of snow covering them, and just as Ancel is about to suggest that Berenger join him, something cold and wet hits him in the back of the head.

He gasps, turning to see Berenger watching him, his gloved hands dusted with snow. Ancel’s mouth drops open in shock as Berenger’s lips quirk up in a sly smile.

“You _didn’t,”_ Ancel says incredulously just as Berenger throws another snowball. Ancel ducks with a laugh, scooping up a handful of his own. Before he can throw it Berenger turns and bolts.

Ancel lets out a peal of laughter before taking after him. This is- ridiculous. Insane. He packs the snow into a messy clump as he runs and throws it but Berenger ducks away behind a tree. Even as they chase each other around Ancel can’t quite believe this is happening, but his heart is singing and his face aches with how wide his smile is.

He scores a few hits, Berenger retaliating in kind, and then Ancel finally manages to catch up, grabbing the back of Berenger’s cloak and tumbling him into a snowbank. They tousle for a few moments before Ancel’s straddling Berenger’s hips, pinning him to the ground. He scoops up a giant handful of snow and holds it over Berenger’s face threateningly, and Berenger- 

Laughs.

Ancel can’t quite catch his breath in the face of it. He’s never heard Berenger laugh before, doesn’t know how to handle it. He sounds so carefree that Ancel’s heart skips a beat.

“No,” Berenger gasps out, raising his hands to shield his face. “Please- Ancel!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Ancel asks breathlessly. “You started it.”

“Ancel, please,” Berenger says through his laughter. “I- I surrender. You wouldn’t attack an unarmed man, would you?”

“Shows what you know,” Ancel says, even as he lets the snow drop back to the ground above Berenger’s head. As he looks at Berenger’s flushed cheeks, his sparkling eyes, he wishes they were back in Arles so he could have an excuse to kiss him.

Except-

Except, all of a sudden Ancel’s not sure why he shouldn’t. He leans closer and catches the smell of sweetness and musk, arousal. Ever since they’d come to Varenne Berenger has been less diligent about drinking his stupid tea and now Ancel can _smell_ him, his desire. It’s as plain as day.

He leans down and brings their mouths together.

Berenger gasps in shock, his lips parting. Ancel wastes no time pressing closer, swiping his tongue inside-

“Ancel, no,” Berenger says quietly, turning his head away and bringing his hands up to Ancel’s shoulders, pushing him back. “We can’t.”

“What?” Ancel asks, frowning and confused. “Why not?” 

Berenger wants him. Ancel can _smell_ it. Berenger wants him, so why-

“Is it because of our contract?” Ancel asks, understanding dawning on him. Of course it would be. Berenger is strange like that, as Ancel now well knows. He probably thinks he’s taking advantage of Ancel somehow, and that’s why he’s put off. “Fine, I’m ending it. I can end it whenever I like, so I’m ending it now.”

He leans down again but Berenger closes his eyes, face still turned away. He’s breathing quickly, his hands fisted in Ancel’s cloak keeping him at bay. He smells different now- acrid and sour, like smoke lingering in a burned-out room long after the fire has died out. It’s fear.

Berenger is afraid. Of _him?_

Ancel jerks back as though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. He evaluates their positions and suddenly what seemed like good fun just a moment ago feels… predatory. Threatening. Suddenly he’s an alpha, pinning a beta to the ground while they’re alone in a garden. The realization makes Ancel break out in a cold sweat and he throws himself to the side, off.

“You know I wouldn’t- ” he says as Berenger sits up, resolutely not looking at him. “You know I’d _never-”_

“I know,” Berenger says as he stands and brushes the snow off his cloak.

“I’d _never,”_ Ancel says, desperately needing him to understand. “I’d never _force_ you, or _anyone-”_

“I know,” Berenger repeats. “I know you wouldn’t.”

So why does he still smell so damn _terrified?_

Ancel doesn’t know how he feels as he rises as well, following Berenger silently back to their rooms. Is this really how Berenger sees him, after everything? A wild beast unable to control himself? 

It makes Ancel furious that even _Berenger_ might see him that way. Berenger, out of everybody, should know better.

But there’s no hiding instinct. Berenger’s instincts paint Ancel as a threat, no matter the pretty words he says.

“Ancel,” Berenger starts quietly once they’re back in the sitting room.

“It’s fine,” Ancel cuts him off, in no mood for more lies. He’s never been this wrong before and it makes him sick. “Everything’s fine.”

He strides over to his own room and shuts the door behind him before Berenger can lie about anything else.

* * *

Things are strained between them the next morning, and the morning after that. Berenger goes on long rides and Ancel hides away in his room, furious. He’d meant it when he’d ended their contract. He has half a mind to storm back to Arles, but the snows are coming down thick and steady now and he doesn’t want to chance it. At best, the journey will be horrible. At worst- impossible.

For better or worse, he’s stuck in Varenne until spring, and through it all he feels angry and too hot, every inch of his skin itching.

It takes another day for him to realize that it’s due to more than what happened between them. He’s coming up on his rut.

Ancel has herbs, of course, that he can use to suppress it. It isn’t too late. Instead he walks to Berenger’s study, not bothering to knock.

“Ancel,” Berenger says, flinching as he looks up from his work.

“My rut is coming up,” Ancel announces without ceremony. “Do you want me to take suppressors?”

Berenger winces and looks down, smoothing his fingers over the parchment he’d been working on. “That’s not for me to decide,” he says quietly.

“I only ask out of _courtesy,”_ Ancel spits out. “To you and to your staff.” It shouldn’t matter overmuch- there are no omegas around to be tempted, no alphas to be provoked.

“Do as you like,” Berenger says.

“Fine,” Ancel says in return. “I’m having it, then.” It’s not healthy to suppress heat and rut cycles, and he’s been doing it three years now, so he’s overdue. That’s not why he says it. He feels petty and mean, angry. He wants Berenger to challenge him, to _fight_ him on something instead of just sitting there being afraid.

“Very good,” is all Berenger says. “Talk to Parsins to make sure you have everything you need.”

Ancel sneers and storms out, unbearably furious.

Over the next few days the itching grows more intense, the heat grows. He feels aroused all the time, but whenever he jerks off it seems to do no good, leaving him only more unsatisfied than before.

He knows he should stay holed up in his room but he’s too restless for that, wandering through the fort barefoot in just a simple pair of trousers and an unlaced linen shirt, his hair wild and his skin damp with sweat. His senses are sharpened and every smell makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Ancel takes to visiting the stables, where the air is cool and only smells are of horse, oddly neutral given his condition. If it helps to quell his arousal, that’s a peripheral benefit.

He doesn’t mean to be there when Berenger returns from one of his rides. Berenger is sweaty and flushed and he smells-

Ancel isn’t sure how to categorize it. Sweet, enticing. But there’s that _fear_ underneath it all and Ancel retreats while Berenger unsaddles his horse. There’s something so familiar about the way he smells but Ancel is too close to his rut now to think clearly about what it is.

He returns to his rooms and throws off his clothes, curling up under the covers to wrap his hand around his cock, fucking into his own fist for lack of anything else. He can’t help but think of Berenger, the way he blushed and kissed and _smelled-_ The way he’d scented Ancel back in Arles.

There’s no relief to be found in his own touch so Ancel sits up and grabs the vial of omega pheromones he’s taken to keeping on his nightstand. He uncorks it and takes a deep breath, and suddenly everything snaps into place.

It’s only as an afterthought that he manages to throw a dressing gown over his naked body before storming into Berenger’s room.

Berenger isn’t there and Ancel growls in frustration, running his hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what time it is. Is it supper time? How long will he need to wait until-

The door opens and Berenger steps inside, his eyes widening when he sees Ancel waiting for him.

“You’re an omega,” Ancel says.

Berenger goes pale, the scent of fear filling the room.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper.

“Yes,” Ancel says, stalking forward. “You do. I can _smell_ you. You can’t hide it from me any longer.”

This is it- the real reason Berenger has been keeping him at arm’s length. He couldn’t allow his secret to be found out. But now Ancel _knows_ and surely there’s nothing between them any longer. Surely now he can just let _go_ and-

“Stay back,” Berenger says nervously and Ancel realizes that he’s advanced until they’re nearly touching. His emotions are a mess of desire and frustration but he’s not an animal. He steps back.

“What do you want?” Berenger asks, his back pressed flush to the door. “Money? I- I can-”

“What?” Ancel demands, incredulous.

“No one can know,” Berenger says. “I’ll lose everything. So just- tell me what you want, and I’ll-”

Ancel reels back, shocked. “You think I’m trying to _blackmail_ you?”

“What else?” Berenger asks weakly, his eyes glistening in the firelight. “I- I’ve tried so hard, for so long… And if it comes out now, what I am… I’ll be- sent off to some-” he shudders, biting his lip.

Ancel freezes, all his rage forgotten. It’s true. If anyone finds out that Berenger’s an omega he’ll lose his title, his lands, everything. He’ll be nothing, his province given over to some other alpha, _he’d_ be given over to some other alpha and-

Ancel growls, deep in his throat. Berenger is _his._

“I want you,” he says, not daring to take another step towards him. Berenger stares at him, eyes wide and uncertain, afraid. Ancel doesn’t want his omega to be afraid of anything ever again. “I want _you,”_ he repeats, more carefully. “I’ll never use this against you, _never._ No matter what happens. I want you to be _mine._ If you don’t want that- then I need you to step away from the door so I can go.”

Berenger doesn’t move and Ancel can smell his fear fading.

“I need you to step away from the door,” Ancel whispers.

Berenger stares at him for a long moment, and then he licks his lips. “I don’t want to,” he whispers back.

Ancel exhales sharply and takes the last few steps to close the distance between them, sliding his hand up Berenger’s shoulder and to the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss. Berenger kisses him back, desperately, his arms coming to wrap around Ancel’s waist and pull him close. Ancel finds himself straddling one of Berenger’s thighs and ruts up against him shamelessly, moaning.

The air smells sweet, it smells of Berenger, and all the fear is gone.

“Come on,” Ancel mutters, moving back and dragging Berenger after him, still so painfully unsure. He shoves Berenger down on the bed and crawls over him, throwing off his dressing gown and groaning in bliss when cool air hits his overheated skin.

Berenger is entirely overdressed and Ancel scrambles at his laces, frustrated with how complicated the damn things are. Berenger moves to help but it’s more of a hindrance and Ancel laughs, leaning up to kiss him once more, to nose at his neck and suck on his pulse point, his scent gland, the smell of the both of them rising in the air making him dizzy.

It seems to take ages, but then Berenger is finally naked under him and Ancel can’t get enough. He pushes Berenger’s hands up above his head and holds them there while he kisses and bites at Berenger’s neck, so careful not to break the skin.

“Is this alright?” he manages to ask as he settles between Berenger’s thighs, open invitingly for him. He can already smell Berenger’s slick, the heady scent filling the air and making him woozy with want.

“Yes,” Berenger whispers, arching into him and bringing their chests together.

Ancel moans, stopping for a moment just to enjoy this moment of closeness. “Have you- have you done this before? Have you been with an alpha in rut?”

“No,” Berenger says. “I haven’t been with anyone.”

Ancel gasps, overcome with the possessive knowledge that he is Berenger’s _first,_ his _only._

“Fuck,” he says, his heart pounding. He moves so he’s holding both of Berenger’s wrists in one hand while he uses the other to drag down Berenger’s chest, his quivering stomach, his cock. He goes lower, his cock pulsing as he reaches Berenger’s hole, leaking slick. It’s so easy to push a finger inside and Berenger’s breath stutters to a stop even as he arches his back to try and get more of Ancel’s touch.

“Oh,” Ancel whispers, nipping at Berenger’s earlobe. “I’ll make it so good for you, I promise. You’ll never want another alpha again.”

“I already don’t,” Berenger says and Ancel pumps into him more firmly, adding another finger. Berenger _keens,_ screwing his eyes shut as his mouth falls open. And that’s better- Ancel doesn’t want him forming words, much less sentences.

He’s done this before, plenty of times, but it’s always been for show. It’s never been like this- he’s never been so lost in another’s body. He’s lost now. He wants to leave Berenger a quivering wreck so he’ll never want anyone else again.

“Fuck,” Ancel breathes out, pressing kisses down Berenger’s chest. His own erection is aching with need but suddenly that seems distant and unimportant. All he wants to do is lap up the sweat beading up on Berenger’s skin and touch him until he forgets everything else.

He takes Berenger’s cock in his mouth and Berenger jerks, muttering something unintelligible. Ancel twists his fingers deep inside even as he moves to swallow Berenger’s length, and Berenger makes the sweetest sound- something between a moan and a cry as he spills down Ancel’s throat.

Ancel pulls back, breathing hard, his fingers still working. Berenger is flushed a pretty pink, his lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. Ancel doesn’t let him, adding another finger.

“Still good?” he murmurs.

Berenger bites his lip instead of answering but Ancel can _smell_ him. He’s had plenty of omegas, but it’s never been this good before, this right.

“I want to fuck you,” Ancel says. “Please, can I fuck you?”

Berenger gasps, throwing his arm over his eyes. His thighs are quivering and his hips making small aborted thrusts, trying to move into the motion of Ancel’s fingers.

“Please,” Ancel begs. He’s beyond reason, his mind full of _want_ with no room for anything else.

“Yes,” Berenger hisses. “Yes, Ancel-”

Ancel pulls out and moves back just far enough so that he can manhandle Berenger onto his stomach, pulling his hips up while Berenger groans, letting him.

He’s so slick and open, so ready. Ancel pushes in easily, fighting to stay gentle, slow.

Berenger keens, clutching at the sheets, and Ancel _knows_ he’s loving this, can smell it in the air. It’s never been this perfect before, and the fact that there’s no audience makes Ancel feel wild with the loss of control. Berenger reaches back to grab his thigh, urging him closer, faster, and Ancel shudders as he folds over Berenger’s back and lets go.

Berenger moans at every thrust and Ancel knows he’s _loving_ this. He’s _made_ for this, for taking Ancel’s cock. He’s only mad they hadn’t figured this out sooner, because every second is bliss.

Berenger is so hot around him, so tight. Ancel feels woozy with it, and then he feels his knot swelling and he gasps, shocked.

“Fuck-” he manages. “I- I’m- Can I please-”

“Knot me,” Berenger manages, his voice muffled in the pillow. His hand on Ancel’s thigh is insistent and all Ancel wants is to let go. But-

“You’re- sure?” Ancel asks, still fucking him steadily, his mind swimming with pleasure. “I- I could-”

“Ancel _please,”_ Berenger moans, and Ancel’s never heard that tone of voice before. This feels real. Ancel so desperately needs this to be real. “Please,” Berenger whispers. “I need you. Please-”

“Fuck,” Ancel bites out and holds Berenger down, holds his hips.

His knot is swelling, and then it starts to catch and he pushes inside and it’s bliss, utter bliss. He groans as he feels Berenger clenching around him. Berenger moans too, and it sounds like music.

Despite all his big talk, Ancel’s never knotted an omega before. This is more than he’d expected, better than he’d ever thought it would be.

He thrusts inside and is enveloped in tight heat and Berenger _sobs_ under him, his whole body clenching, coming. 

Ancel comes too, shuddering and biting at Berenger’s shoulder. It lasts for ages, and then he finally has the presence of mind to turn, bringing the both of them to lie on their sides with Ancel spooned around Berenger in front of him.

They’re tied together and it’s perfect, until Berenger moves, grinding back against him with a quiet whine, and Ancel bites back a moan. He’s _finished,_ he thought he was finished. But Berenger keeps moving, short little movements that put pressure on his knot, that make him mindless with pleasure.

Ancel can only hold on to Berenger’s chest as it happens, whimpering quietly as Berenger grinds against him, stroking himself with quiet efficient movements. Ancel rides it out until Berenger moans, quieting as his body tightens. And then Ancel has no choice but to gasp and come again, still inside.

They fall asleep like that, tied together, and when Ancel wakes once the lamps have burned out he fucks Berenger again, and then again before dawn.

In the morning Berenger rides him- his chest glistening with sweat and his head thrown back, his powerful horseman’s thighs bracketing Ancel’s hips.

Ancel’s been with omegas before, but this is different. This is so different. Berenger is _his_ now, _his_ omega to take and take care of. His for good.

The rut lasts three more days- three more days of lounging around and fucking and eating in bed and bathing together. And through it all- Ancel knows that he’s found the most perfect man in the world.

* * *

“What if-” Berenger starts, nervous.

“Hush,” Ancel says. “It’ll go just as you planned.”

“But-”

“No,” Ancel interrupts. They’re waiting outside the audience chamber where Prince Laurent has no doubt convinced his brother and his brother’s Council to implement the laws that Berenger wants to propose Kingdom-wide. The laws that will allow people like him to live their lives without fear or reproach. The laws that would allow their relationship to be public and nondescript rather than a dangerous scandal.

“It’ll be fine,” Ancel says. He’s nearly sure of it. But even if it doesn’t come to pass- he knows that Berenger is his now, and he is Berenger’s. It’s a bond not likely to be broken any time soon and he relishes it.

“But what if-” Berenger tries again, nervous.

“No what-if’s,” Ancel says with a smirk and reaches out to take Berenger’s hand.

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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